Memoirs of Lady Montrose Read Free Page A

account of her Brighton trip, knowing his money had been well spent.
    “I’ve been inspired, my love.”
    She stretched down and wrapped her palm around his erection, stroking the swelling organ, encouraging its length. Straddling him, she eased her sex down onto his now-firm cock. She rocked her hips, locking him inside her sex then moved back and forth along Henry’s pelvis, keeping a firm grip with her muscles. Henry’s pleasure bathed his face—his eyes were closed and the corners of his mouth curved up.
    “God, that feels wonderful.” She rocked faster but to no avail. Henry grabbed her hips, sliding his hands up her sides to cup her breasts. She leant forward so they hung pendulous in his grasp.
    “Oops, the Member seems to be ignoring Standing Orders,” Henry commented, his eyes flicking open.
    She saw a flash of sadness in his eyes and leant down to kiss his nose. She kept his member tight until finally she raised her hips to release him, sliding her body over to lie along Henry’s side and resting her head on his shoulder, his arm curved around and down her back as he stroked her spine.
    “Sorry, darling,” he said.
    “Nonsense, Henry. As a Member of the Lower House, he shows promise. I’m sure he’ll stand again.”
    “Let’s hope so,” Henry said.
    His expressions of love, and her desire to love him in return, kept their marriage firm. By those means, they combated the leers of the younger men within their social circle. With a haughty toss of her head, she could ignore the lewd suggestions they whispered. She would place her hand on Henry’s arm with a smug smile. It was no one’s business who put the smile there.
     
    * * * *
     
    At home, after her evening at the Albert Hall
     
    Her mind leapt again with fear and dragged her back to the present. The loud pounding of her heartbeat filled her ears, then slowed. She was safe at home with Henry, but out there in the dark danger lurked.
    One of her Brighton lovers had recognised her. Which one and who was he? Her name would have been recorded in the Brighton establishment whenever she’d visited as ‘Mrs Brown’. He must have read the records. How else would he know to call her by that?
    She had no doubt that by now he would have learnt her real name. As Lord and Lady Montrose, they frequented social gatherings in the city, mingling, dining and attending shows, operas and charity events. Any casual query would elicit her true title.
    Henry served in the House of Lords and in his position as Chairman of the Committees he could not afford scandal to be attached to his name. However, she knew from his comrades’ stories that Henry could be fearless in battle, verbal or physical. He had injuries from the war to attest to this. He’d joined as an officer in 1938 and had fought bravely in France before being invalided home. He still walked with a limp from his hip injury. Sadly it was not his injury, but his age, which had brought them to this situation. At sixty-five, his body had begun to betray him. His desire was still strong, his heart still willing, though his flesh refused to rise to the occasion.
    She hated to consider what the tongues of acidic gossipers would say, the titters that would be barely hidden behind raised hands and the gasps of mock horror should her Brighton trips become common knowledge. She would be shunned by many and courted assiduously by the salacious few. Surely Henry would be proven right—this man must only want money, not to ruin her reputation. There would be no profit for the man to broadcast his knowledge, especially if he wished to establish himself in London’s society. Being at the Albert Hall this evening indicated he’d already begun to make contacts. To reveal his previous employment would damage his own footsteps up the social ladder
    This reasoning gave her some respite and as dawn crept under the bottom of the bedroom’s velvet drapes, she finally drifted off to sleep, more from exhaustion than a